


Team Baz

by Gampyre



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz likes Drarry fanfiction, Baz plots WITH Simon for once, Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon is oblivious... or is he?, Team Baz, Twilight References, team simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24630919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gampyre/pseuds/Gampyre
Summary: The Watford students are taking sides in the Snow-Pitch-Wellbelove love triangle. The boys are fed up. Simon proposes a plot.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 26
Kudos: 332





	Team Baz

**Author's Note:**

> Got this ridiculous idea in my head and it wouldn't go away. So I wrote it. This is sort of crack so there's some OOC-ness and stuff that doesn't fit with canon. Just roll with it and enjoy :)
> 
> (For the purposes of this fic, it is 2014.)
> 
>   
> [Come say hi to me on tumblr!](https://gampyre.tumblr.com/)

Baz strolled into the dining hall and groaned in exasperation. It was the first day of the new school year, and he'd hoped (clearly in vain) that his classmates would have gotten over this nonsense by now. They'd had all summer to find a new obsession, for Crowley's sake. 

There'd even been a new Spider-Man movie released over the summer. Couldn't they moon over Andrew Garfield instead? He was fit enough to capture the attention of teenage girls. Or what about Chris Pratt in _Guardians of the Galaxy?_ Baz thought he was plenty attractive. Chris Pratt's beautifully muscled torso should have been enough to draw the attention away from Baz, at least for a little while.

But, alas. Luck was not on his side.

As Baz walked over to the buffet line to grab some fruit and pudding, a couple of sixth year girls came up to him, giggling and blushing. Baz rolled his eyes and sighed when he saw what they were wearing.

The taller of the two girls had on a black choker necklace with the words _Team Baz_ stitched on it, accompanied by some embroidered flowers. The stitching was crooked. It was clearly homemade, but it matched the shirt she was wearing — letters stenciled on in fabric paint that spelled out: _Agatha can have Simon, Baz is mine._ Her friend's shirt looked like it had been professionally screen-printed (Baz didn't know if that made it better or worse). It read: _Bite me, Bazzy!_ above a clip art set of fangs.

"Hello, Basilton. Have a nice summer?"

The shorter one giggled, and Baz realized with horror that she had plastic prosthetic vampire fangs spelled to her teeth.

Baz decided to ignore them. If he pretended they weren't there, maybe they would disappear. The less of a reaction he gave them, the better.

He moved to grab a plate, but a third girl blocked him.

"Oh, let me make you a plate, Basil. Don't worry, I know what all your favorites are," she breathed, and winked at him in what she probably thought was a smooth gesture but just made her look more ridiculous than she already did. She was in fucking Agatha Wellbelove _cosplay_ for Crowley’s sake, her cheap blonde wig clashing horribly with her red-brown eyebrows.

Baz decided he wasn't hungry anymore.

He all but ran from the dining hall, barely escaping with his dignity after a small mob of third years accosted him by the entrance and begged him to take a selfie with them. (He not-so-politely refused. They took several pictures of him anyway.)

When he got to his room, he collapsed on his bed, pulled out a book, and resigned himself to having salt and vinegar crisps and one of Snow's mint Aero bars for dinner.

Baz's reading was quite rudely interrupted when Simon burst through the door, panting like a dog, hair more disheveled than normal, the tails of his shirt hanging loose and his blazer halfway off his shoulders. 

He looked like he'd either been mugged or thoroughly kissed. 

"Oh, fucking hell," Simon griped, peeling a muddy sock off his foot and tossing it in his hamper. One of his shoes was missing. He had lipstick on his cheek, but he didn’t look happy about it, rubbing at it with the back of his hand and scowling when he saw it in the mirror.

Baz snorted. "Did you get captured by the fifth years again, Snow?" 

Last term, a bunch of fifth year girls had all but kidnapped Simon after he made the mistake of nodding off in the library. They managed to draw a bunch of initialed hearts all over his arms and face in permanent marker before he got away.

Simon growled. "Sixth years, this time," he said. "They were waiting 'round the corner for me to leave the dining hall. They fuckin' ambushed me."

Baz huffed out a laugh.

"What are _you_ laughing at?" Simon glared at his roommate.

"I just find it funny that _you_ , the Chosen One, can fight dragons and Humdrums and goblins in your sleep, but you can’t handle a few lovesick teenage girls."

"Come off it, Baz. I was there when you drank that milkshake Philippa's little sister gave you, remember?"

Baz sneered at Simon, but internally cringed. The love potion has lasted three days. Three days he'd had to lock himself in the catacombs to avoid the sudden urge to snog the life out of a fifteen-year-old girl.

"And I know what you did in those catacombs, too," Simon continued.

Baz shuddered, remembering how he'd caught a rat and pretended it was the object of his (magickally induced) desire. He'd said far too many embarrassing things to that rat. (He'd never admit it, but he may have tried to snog it before he finally drained it.)

"Fuck off, Snow," he said, standing up and gathering his things to shower. Simon was asleep by the time he got out, and Baz lay down in his own bed, gazing at the way the moonlight fell across the curve of Simon's back.

* * *

Baz could feel Simon's magic throughout classes the next day, and so could everyone else. Bunce kept sneezing, and Mrs. Bellamy had to ask Simon to leave the classroom. Snow seemed to be on the verge of going off all day, and only got closer to going nova as the hours passed. 

After fourth period, Baz grabbed Simon's elbow and pulled him around the corner into an alcove, dragging him away from a brunette girl who'd just handed him what appeared to be a love letter covered in glitter and drenched in a cloying floral perfume. Baz gagged.

"Thanks for the rescue," Simon muttered as he crumpled up the pink paper, throwing it to the ground and stomping on it, then kicking it away. The perfume cloud followed it.

"Don't thank me, that's weird. I was only going to tell you to get a grip. Your magic is spilling out everywhere and it's making the whole school twitchy."

Simon groaned. "I know, I know. I just— ugh!" He tugged at his curls, making them spring up in all directions. "I just can't take it anymore! They're driving me _mad_. I'm going absolutely batty. I swear to Merlin, if you or the Humdrum don't kill me and put me out of this misery, I'm going to end up in the loony bin. Or hiding out in a cave for the rest of eternity. Or cutting my own bloody ears off just to get some fucking peace and quiet! I can't even fucking hear myself think!"

"Well neither can anyone else, the way you're walking around buzzing like a live wire," retorted Baz.

Simon glared at him. "Fuck you. You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Baz scoffed. "Why, in Crowley's name, would I _possibly_ be enjoying this?"

"Shut up, you wanker. You know why."

"No, I don't. I hate this as much as you do. Please enlighten me as to why you think I would be _enjoying_ any of this."

Simon scowled, then practically spit the words at him. "Because. Aggie broke up with me. Because of this. Because of you."

Baz wasn't expecting that. "Agatha broke up with you?" 

He must have repeated it a little too loudly, because they both heard a squeal from around the corner, and a high-pitched voice shout "Simon and Agatha finally broke up!" and a second high-pitched voice say "hashtag Bazatha for life," followed by a series of girlish giggles. 

"See?" Simon said, pointing toward the voices and looking at Baz like he wanted to deck him. " _Everyone_ thinks you and Agatha belong together. Even she thinks so. That's why she dumped me."

Baz shook his head in disbelief. "You honestly think Wellbelove dumped you for me."

"Well, yeah."

Baz sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Crowley, Simon. How thick can you be?"

"So you can, you know, go get her if you want, I guess." Simon continued, slumping against the wall. "She made it quite clear that she doesn't want me anymore, so, go ahead. With any luck it'll draw the worst of the attention away from me for a few weeks."

Baz made a disgusted sound. "I don't want your girlfriend, Snow."

"She's _not_ my girlfriend. No thanks to you."

"That's not what I-" Baz hesitated, then made a decision. "I'm gay, alright? I don't want to date Wellbelove, or any other girl in this school, or any girl at all. I'm quite sick of all this female attention. Would've thought _you_ 'd be enjoying it more, though."

Simon gaped at Baz. "You're gay?"

Baz lifted his lip in a sneer and looked down his nose at Simon. "Yes, Snow, it's called homosexuality, which I know is a lot of syllables for you, but surely you've heard of men who-"

"I know what it _means_ , Baz, thank you. And I don't wanna know about your sex life. I just didn't know that you were— I just didn’t know, that's all. Nothing wrong with it."

"Of course there's nothing wrong with it, you tit. I wasn't looking for your approval."

"Right, right, sorry."

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, neither of them wanting to continue the conversation, but neither of them particularly eager to brave the hallway again. If they waited it out a few more minutes, passing period would be over and they could slip in just after the start of class. Baz hated being late, but it was the most preferable of the available options.

Simon stood up straight with a jerk and grabbed Baz's arm. Baz started, surprised both by the contact itself and the suddenness of it.

"Baz! I've got it!"

Baz frowned. "What, finally figured out which end of your wand to hold?"

"Shut up. I think…" Simon paused and grinned, and Baz braced himself. That look in Simon's eyes couldn't mean anything but trouble. "I think I know how to get us out of this."

"And what do you propose? Faking our own deaths? Because that might work. Or we could just _actually_ kill each other, since we're bound to someday anyway."

"No, no, no. Merlin, Baz, why do you have to be so dramatic? Why is _faking our own death_ the first thing you think of?"

Baz opened his mouth, but Simon held up a hand to stop him. "No, nevermind, I don't care. Just, hear me out, okay?"

Baz sighed but gestured to Simon to continue. 

"Right. So. The main problem here is that neither of us wants all that attention from the girls. It's not just that they're obsessed with us, right, it's that they won't fucking leave us alone. Asking for selfies and dates and giving us love potions and all that shite, yeah?"

"Right… where are you going with this?"

"What I'm _saying_ is, we should divert their attention."

Baz rolled his eyes. "And how exactly do you propose to do _that_? A whole summer of distractions and an exceptionally fit Chris Pratt did nothing to dissuade them."

Simon furrowed his eyebrows at the Chris Pratt comment, but said nothing. "I'm saying, if we dated each other, if like, they knew you were gay and thought that I was, maybe they'd stop trying to get us to date one of them."

Baz laughed at that. Actually laughed out loud. "Fucking hell, Simon. And you call _me_ dramatic. That might be the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard. No wonder Bunce is always coming up with your little battle strategies for you."

"I'm serious!"

"So am I. Look. Everyone knows you're straight. They'll never believe it. And it might only make them more obsessed with us. I mean, have you _seen_ the way people fangirl over gay couples? Take Draco and Harry, for one."

"Draco and Harry weren't a couple."

"They are in fanfiction."

"Fanfiction doesn't count."

"It does if we're talking about what fangirls obsess over."

"Okay, fine. But my point still stands. Even if they're still obsessed with us, they won't be trying to _date_ us."

"We can hope."

"Yeah. So, are you in?"

Baz smirked, looking amused. "Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Snow? Don't you think you should at least ask me out first? Buy me a drink? Walk me to our door and kiss me goodnight?"

Simon's cheeks flushed a deep red.

"Not like that, you prick. Like fake dating. We just pretend to be boyfriends in public, and then we ignore each other in private like we always do."

Baz narrowed his eyes at Simon. Could he be serious?

Simon stammered and kept talking. “We don’t even have to, you know, do anything, really. Like we could hold hands and eat meals at the same table. That’s all. Doesn’t have to be weird or anything.”

"What about Wellbelove?"

"What about her?" Simon retorted. "We're broken up. She can do whatever she wants, and so can I."

Baz pretended to think it over, but he already knew what his answer would be. He'd take any excuse to be near Simon without having to reveal his true feelings. If he was lucky, maybe he'd even get to kiss him.

"Alright."

"Alright? Seriously?"

"Yes, Snow, I'll pretend to date you, for both our sakes, but you owe me. Come on, let's get to class. We’re late."

"If this works," Simon stage-whispered as they jogged down the hall, "I'll do anything you want."

Luckily, Simon was in front of him and couldn't see the expression on Baz's face or the faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

* * *

They decided to wait Monday morning at breakfast to make their “announcement.” Simon wanted to start straight away, but Baz insisted that it would look suspicious if they suddenly got together in the middle of the school day.

“It has to be believable,” Baz told Simon in their room after dinner on Thursday, “or it won’t work and it will just be an embarrassing waste of time.”

“Fine,” countered Simon, “but I get to take you out tomorrow after class. On a date. For, you know, for appearances.”

Baz forced his expression neutral, then curled his lip up in a sneer for good measure. “Fine. But I get to choose where we go. I’m sure you have horrible taste in planning dates. Probably why Agatha broke up with you.”

Snow huffed at him and stomped out of the room, but not before saying a parting “fuck you” to Baz.

Friday dragged on. Baz was so anxious and distracted, he went to the wrong classroom for third period, and almost walked into the girls’ bathroom, causing a bunch of first and second years to squeal at a frequency too high for the human ear (Baz’s vampire ear registered it just fine, though, to his immense annoyance).

By the time dinner rolled around, Baz felt too ill to even pretend to eat. He skipped the dining hall in favor of a long shower and some extra time to get ready for the evening. (For his date. With Simon.)

Baz tugged on a pair of black trousers and pulled a soft navy cashmere jumper over his head, then glanced in the mirror. He looked good, but not _too_ good. Just enough that he would be appropriately dressed for a date, but not so much that Snow would guess that he actually _cared_ whether he was appropriately dressed for their date. 

Simon would most likely be wearing his Watford uniform, anyway. That’s what he always wore for his dates with Wellbelove. 

Once dressed, he slicked his hair back and styled it, then headed downstairs to wait for Simon outside the dining hall like they’d planned.

“Hey.” He heard a familiar voice behind him.

Baz turned around to find that Simon wasn’t wearing his uniform after all. He must have found someone to borrow clothes from. He looked good, dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a long-sleeve green V-neck. Not that Simon looked bad in other things. (Baz thought he looked good in everything.) But, it was a surprise to see him dressed in something normal. Something that could actually be considered a “date outfit.”

Snow had never dressed like this for his dates with Agatha.

Baz didn’t let himself dwell on that thought.

“Well come on, then, Snow, let’s get this over with.” Baz turned on his heel and started marching toward the gates. He didn’t bother to wait for Simon to follow.

Simon huffed, then jogged after him. “Hey! You’re supposed to be acting like we’re on a date.”

Baz gave him a sidelong look. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“This is how you treat your dates, Baz? You run away from them without even saying hello? No wonder you’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“My dating life is none of your business, Snow.”

“Well it is now,” Simon told him.

Baz sighed and swallowed another insult. “What do you want me to do?”

“I, uh—” Simon stammered. “I dunno. Boyfriend stuff? First date stuff, I guess.”

“Like what? Be more specific.”

“I dunno, Baz, I’m not really good at the whole boyfriend thing. I thought you’d know what to do.”

Baz snorted. “You’re the one who’s had a steady girlfriend the past two years.”

“Yeah, well, clearly I was shit at it, alright? If I’m gonna be your fake boyfriend I want to be a good fake boyfriend, not a terrible one.”

“And you think I have any idea how to be a good boyfriend?”

Simon frowned. “Clearly not. Even I know this isn’t how first dates are supposed to start. Where are we going, anyway? You haven’t even told me.”

“We’re going dancing.” Baz had decided that, if he was going to pretend to date Simon, he was going to make the most of it. He might not be able to have a real conversation with him, but he could make sure they spent as much time in close physical proximity as possible.

“Dancing? Where? I don’t know how to dance. Is this a plot? Are you trying to embarrass me?”

“No, you idiot. There’s a place in town that has salsa dancing every Friday night. They have an hour of free instruction beforehand. You’ll be fine.”

“Do _you_ know how to dance?” Simon was looking at Baz like he’d never seen him before.

“Of course I do.” Baz sniffed, tilting his chin up. In reality, he’d only ever taken a few dancing lessons, but he was confident enough that Snow wouldn’t know the difference.

The salsa club was small and dimly lit, and there weren’t many other people there yet. Baz checked his watch. They were still ten minutes early for the instruction. There was a row of tables in the back near a bar, and a sign informing guests of the two-drink minimum. Baz took a deep breath, then reached for Simon’s hand, pulling him toward the tables.

Simon’s hand was a little sweaty in his, but Baz didn’t mind. He released it as soon as Simon sat down, though. Didn't want to come off too eager.

“I’ll go grab us some drinks,” Baz told him. “What would you like?”

Seeing as neither of them was eighteen yet, alcohol was off the table for the evening. Simon ordered a Coke, and Baz got a mocktail made with ginger beer and cranberry.

They sipped their drinks as they waited for the instruction to start, watching the band set up in the corner. Simon turned to Baz, grinning. “You didn’t tell me it was going to be live music!”

Baz almost smiled at the delight on Simon’s face. The corners of his mouth turned up just the slightest bit. “Of course. Like I said, I have good taste, unlike you.”

Simon just laughed at that, like it was friendly banter rather than a dig from his enemy. Perhaps it was.

Baz didn’t let himself dwell on that, but he let himself relax. He was determined to enjoy this.

* * *

Several hours later, Baz and Simon stumbled across the drawbridge, just before it started to go up. Simon was yawning widely, dead on his feet, clinging to Baz’s arm. 

Baz had never felt more awake.

Simon was saying something to him, but he wasn’t listening. He was too busy replaying the events of the evening in his head.

Simon laughing whenever he fumbled the steps, and grinning ear-to-ear when he got something right.

Simon’s arm resting on Baz’s shoulder, his fingers brushing the back of his neck.

The muscles in Simon’s back tensing and flexing under Baz’s hand as they stepped and spun together.

Simon winking at him cheekily when he asked if he could try leading.

Simon’s arm slipping around Baz’s waist as they made their way out of the club and down the street.

The sound of Simon’s breath catching when Baz leaned in close to ask if he wanted to go for ice cream, brushing his lips ever so lightly against Simon’s ear.

The feel of Simon’s lips against his thumb when he reached over to wipe off a bit of ice cream from the corner of his mouth, followed closely by the feel of Simon’s tongue when Simon grabbed his hand to lick the errant drop of ice cream off.

Baz had learned so many new things about Simon today. The first on the list being that Simon was an _incredibly_ good actor. If Baz didn’t know better, he’d think this was real. That Simon actually enjoyed spending time with him. That they might actually be good for each other.

But Baz knew better.

So, when they got to their room and Simon stepped toward him as if to hug him goodnight, Baz backed away and shut himself in the bathroom until he was sure that Snow was asleep.

* * *

Simon was gone by the time Baz woke up. Baz peeked out the window and, seeing that it was a nice day, decided to spend some time practicing football on the pitch. With any luck, there’d be another teammate or two down there to play with.

He froze as soon as he stepped out of the building, because just next door, someone was hauling two life-size cardboard cutouts into the girls’ dorms. Two life-size cardboard cutouts of him and Simon.

 _Where in the bloody hell did they get those?_ Baz wondered. It looked as if their yearbook pictures from last year had been photoshopped onto full-body shots of someone else wearing the Watford uniform and then blown up to life-size proportions.

And there were several oily-looking lipstick marks on both their faces.

This had to stop.

Love letters and love potions and _Team Baz/Team Simon_ apparel were bad enough, but this was downright creepy.

Baz needed to talk to Simon. He turned toward the dining hall to look for him there, only to find that Simon was already standing right behind him.

“Snow.”

“Baz.” Simon’s expression indicated that he was just as freaked out as Baz was.

“Did you see—”

“Yeah.”

“It’s—”

“Creepy as fuck, yeah.” 

Baz nodded in complete agreement.

“Do you think we should, uh—” Simon began.

“Move the plan up a few days?”

Simon nodded. “Yes. Please. This is far too much.”

“For once, I agree with you, Snow. As of now, you are officially my fake boyfriend.”

“Great.” Simon said.

“Cancel your plans for the rest of the day,” Baz told him.

“Didn’t have any.”

“Perfect. You’re coming to watch me practice football right now, and then we’re going to sit under that tree over there next to the Weeping Tower and make out for a while where everyone can see us, and then we’re going to go to lunch holding hands and we’re going to sit together and you’re going to tell Bunce that we’re dating, loud enough so the mobs of screaming stans can hear you. And you’re going to specify that it’s serious, and that we’re gay, and that neither of us has any interest in dating anyone else in this infernal hellpit of a school.”

Simon just nodded. “Sure. Great. All that sounds… well, yeah. Let’s just go.” He took the football from Baz and tucked it under one arm, then slid his other hand into Baz’s. They walked to the football pitch in silence.

No one else was there, so Simon watched Baz kick at the goal for a while before joining him. Simon wasn’t nearly as good at football as Baz (no one at Watford was), but he wasn’t terrible, either. Baz found himself thoroughly enjoying kicking the football around with Simon, and from the smile on Simon’s face and the way he kept throwing his head back to laugh at the snarky comments Baz made, Baz thought maybe Simon was enjoying it, too.

Surprisingly, they managed to play for a couple of hours before any fangirls figured out where they were. When Simon spotted a trio coming over the hill, one of them in a shirt that read _Team Simon (real men have swords)_ , he caught Baz’s eye and mouthed, “run.”

Baz picked up the ball and took off, Simon at his heels.

Baz stopped when they reached the Weeping Tower, and Simon collapsed against the wall next to him, both boys breathless and laughing. 

“I can’t believe we’re so scared of a bunch of teenage girls,” Simon said.

“Fucking terrifying, they are,” replied Baz. “And did you see her shirt? _Real men have swords_. What the fuck was that?”

“Well, I do have an actual sword, Baz. Like a metal one for killing things. Not the other kind. Though I have one of those too. Not that it matters.”

Baz raised his eyebrows and Simon just shook his head, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “So, now what?”

Baz cleared his throat. “I believe the next item on our itinerary was to make out under that tree over there.” Simon looked where Baz was pointing at the large willow tree. It was a popular spot for couples, but no one else was there at the moment. The willow branches offered some sense of seclusion, but anyone walking by would be able to see who was under there and what they were doing.

The tree was situated right in the middle of Watford’s campus. It really did make sense for the plot.

Baz watched as Simon swallowed, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, alright.” 

Baz’s eyes snapped up to Simon’s face. Simon was looking right at him, a hint of a challenge in his expression. “What?”

“I said alright. Let’s go make out under the tree. Come on.”

Baz just gaped at him as Simon grabbed his wrist and pulled him under the willow. Simon sat and patted the ground next to him. “Come on, then. Sit your arse down. I believe your exact words were ‘make out for a while where everyone can see us,’ so get comfortable.”

Baz’s stomach was trying to leap out of his throat. He swallowed hard, and knelt down, keeping his distance from Simon. Simon rolled his eyes. “Oh _come on_ , Baz. You’re not seriously going to try to kiss me from half a meter away, are you? Come here.” Simon grabbed Baz’s arm and tugged on it until Baz had scooted close enough for his liking.

“So,” Baz began, but his voice sounded strangled. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How are we going to do this?”

“Well,” said Simon. “I was thinking we could start with something like . . . this.” With that, Simon placed his hands on either side of Baz’s face, his thumbs gently stroking Baz’s cheekbones. Baz’s breath hitched, and he felt dizzy.

Simon carded the fingers of his right hand through Baz’s hair as he leaned forward. Baz saw Simon’s eyes close, and allowed his own to flutter closed as well, just before Simon closed the distance between them.

Simon’s lips were soft and warm, and Baz felt Simon hum a little as their lips slotted together. Simon moved his jaw, sliding one hand down to Baz’s waist. Baz gasped, his lips parting the slightest bit. Simon smiled and gently pressed the tip of his tongue to Baz’s lower lip, tracing it from side to side.

Baz realized his hands were still hanging limply at his sides. He didn’t know what to do with them — this was his first kiss, after all. Then he remembered that this was definitely _not_ Simon’s first kiss, and Simon was probably disappointed that he wasn’t reciprocating. But Baz wasn’t sure how to reciprocate, exactly. 

He settled for copying what Simon was doing with his hands — one in his hair and one gripping his hip.

Simon grunted appreciatively at the contact, but pulled back, frowning.

“I— sorry,” Baz whispered. “Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing. Was that bad?”

Simon’s face relaxed. “No, you tit. It was perfect. It’s just that I can tell you’re overthinking this. Relax a little, alright?”

Baz nodded. Simon leaned in, but stopped and pulled back again as soon as his lips touched Baz’s.

“Baz?”

“Hm?”

“Is this… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

Baz frowned. “Can’t you tell?”

“No I— I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant… If it's your first kiss, I want it to be good for you. Is this okay?”

“Crowley, Snow, yes.” Then, as if realizing he’d said too much, Baz flushed and coughed, looking down. “I mean, you— you’re quite good at this.”

“Alright then,” Simon said, tilting Baz’s face back up to him with one finger. Simon was smiling brightly. Looking at him was like looking directly into the sun. “Let me lead. Just relax and enjoy it, yeah?”

With that, Simon pressed their lips together again.

Baz didn’t know how long they kissed. It could have been hours, or minutes, or days. 

When Simon pressed his tongue to his lower lip again, Baz let his mouth open a little, gasping when he felt Simon’s tongue slip inside his mouth and twist around his own. 

For possibly the first time in his life, Baz stopped thinking.

Simon pulled away first, once they were out of breath. The boys leaned up against the tree, sitting side-by-side.

Baz reached his hand down into the space between them, and smiled when Simon placed his hand on top of his. Baz flipped his arm, turning his palm up and threading his fingers through Simon’s. He looked up, and Simon was smiling back at him. He gave Simon’s hand a little squeeze.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” Simon wondered aloud.

Baz’s stomach dropped. He’d been so wrapped up in _what_ they were doing that he’d almost forgotten _why_ they were doing it. He tried to snatch his hand back, but Simon gripped tightly, not letting him go. “Baz.”

“Simon, let me go.”

“No.”

“Please. I’m sure they already saw us, we’ve done plenty, we don’t need to go to lunch together, just let me go. Please.”

“No, Baz.”

“Why?” Baz whispered, scanning Simon’s face for a clue, anything that might indicate what he was thinking. Simon was looking at him with a soft expression, a timid smile on his face and a bit of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Baz, I— If I’m wrong about this I’m sorry, and I hope it won’t make things weird but… I— When I kissed you, just now, that wasn’t …”

“Spit it out, Snow,” Baz said, trying and failing to sound bitter. Instead, he just sounded weak. Pathetic. Needy.

Simon rubbed circles onto Baz’s wrist with his thumb. “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

“I know that,” Baz snapped. “I didn’t _make_ you do any of this. The whole plot was your idea.”

“No, I don’t mean the plot,” Simon said quietly. He was still looking Baz directly in the eyes, and Baz couldn’t look away. “I mean, I wanted to kiss you. I have wanted to kiss you. For a while now, I think. And I know that you only went out with me for the plot, but I can’t help thinking I’d like to do it again, but for real. I just— I really like you, and I thought you hated me, and maybe you still do, but the way you kissed me just now, well, it felt real.”

“I never hated you, Simon,” Baz whispered.

“Was it real?” Simon asked.

“Yes,” Baz replied before gently kissing Simon again. A chaste, tender kiss, but one that left him no less breathless. “It was real for me. And I’d like to go out with you again, too, if you want to.”

Simon grinned. “I do want to. But I want to plan it this time. I promise I can actually plan good dates.”

Baz laughed at that. “I’m not sure I believe you, but I look forward to you proving me wrong.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Well, it’s almost lunchtime. Shall we continue with our plot and tell Bunce that we’re together?”

Simon stood, holding his hand out for Baz to take. Baz took it.

“Yes. But, it will be the truth. At least on my end. I want to be your boyfriend, and I don’t want to date anyone else.”

“You said you were a terrible boyfriend,” Baz reminded him.

“Well, yeah. That’s true. But I want to try to be good for you. I want to be _your_ terrible boyfriend, if you’ll have me.”

Baz smiled, then glanced over Simon’s shoulder, where no fewer than twenty girls had stopped to take pictures of Baz and Simon on their way to lunch. Several of them looked disappointed. One second year looked like she was about to cry.

“I want that, too. Come on, let’s go. I want to have a quick lunch and then spend the rest of the day in my room with my terrible boyfriend.”

They walked to the dining hall hand in hand, a troupe of dejected young women trailing behind them.

“For the record,” whispered Simon as they walked, “I’m Team Baz.”  
  
  



End file.
